


Treasures Bound by Earth

by nonky



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nas (Blindspot)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9501662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonky/pseuds/nonky
Summary: "We're not looking for Jane as a prisoner. This is either a distraction - for what I could not care less - or it's revenge on me. Those boots are the same boots Taylor Shaw was buried wearing. We're not looking for Jane being held somewhere," Kurt told them. "Shepherd wants me to find her in a grave."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This my first episodic kind of fic where it's an enclosed beginning, middle and end with everyone. My only problem was I couldn't think of a way the show would use Roman in this case. He's not quite field ready, especially without Jane. The only other person who could allow him to work on this case would be Weller, and he wasn't in the frame of mind to pave the way for Roman's involvement. For now, unless I think of a good way to add Roman, assume he's in his cell and unaware of anything until it's over.

Kurt Weller stared at the little girl's boots thrown sloppily on the bottom step of Jane's safe house. It was odd - horror was rising but not quite tangible - he'd never hallucinated before. He'd been plagued by nightmares and vivid, heart-breaking memories, but those had seemed like projections of his mind. 

The boots, purple and pink with bright flowers, looked real enough to touch. 

He blinked a few times, fixing his faltered grip on his gun. Her security detail hadn't seen her since her arrival home late last night. The case had run long and she had perhaps slept through her alarm. Even Jane could be late a day, or call for a sick day. 

But she hadn't called, texted or even shown signs of being awake inside the house. She was very exacting with herself in her role as a consultant. Unless he found her upstairs and groggy, her absence made no sense. 

One of the guards called out from the kitchen. "Clear!"

Jane barely found herself in the kitchen. She never cooked and sometimes didn't eat. The living room was clear, and the agent who had gone around to the back of the house was walking through the front door with muddy shoes.

"Clear around back, sir, no footprints before I started walking on the lawn. The door was secure," he said. 

"One of you watch this floor and the other one on me," Kurt said tightly. He ignored the boots as he stepped over them, because they were too specifically Taylor's boots to even exist in Jane's house. It was a stress reaction, symbolic of that time when protecting Jane was protecting Taylor. He would not touch them because they weren't real, and he was sane enough to know that. 

The agent behind him wasn't so careful at avoiding the obstacle, and he kicked one of the little boots onto the floor. The rubbery impact felt like a shot of adrenaline, and Kurt was running up without his backup. He could hear the agent running as well, though all the footsteps blended with his pounding heart. 

Jane wasn't Taylor. The people who had created that lie thought she was a traitor to their cause. He was wishing for a break in his sanity, but Taylor's boots were a calling card. 

Kurt hit the top step and cleared the bathroom with no hope Jane would be simply unwell. He turned to her bedroom, and a quarter century of life slipped away. He was ten and he was looking after Taylor for her mom. It was a regular night, and Taylor had tried to stay awake but sweetly fallen asleep despite herself. She was a big girl, and slept well. He'd expected to have to fix her blankets back over her, or pick her bear off the floor. 

The rumpled, lifeless bed was a shock, fear chilling him utterly. He'd been tired but was wide awake. He'd pinched himself to be sure he hadn't fallen asleep to this awful dream. He knew 911 and his house number, but he'd have to look up Emma's number at her work. It was too visceral to stop and think. Kurt had searched, alone, for too long before he called anyone. 

This time - no, this would not be the same, could not be allowed to be the same - Kurt had ignored the team's suggestion he leave Jane to have a late start and pick her up at noon. He had left the office a little before ten. The security detail met him at her door. They waited a few seconds for an answer to her phone, then let themselves in. The response time might be the difference. 

Her bedroom was a little messy, discarded personal items on a dresser top, and a stack of books toppling to pool. Her bed was used but empty, the white linens at least showing no blood or stains. 

He felt the agent at his back, and opened the closet. Her clothing was hanging up, and he recognized a few favourite items. She hadn't packed to leave. 

Kurt dropped to his knees beside the bed, looking underneath just in case it was as simple as finding her scared and comforting her. The space was small, and it was empty. He put a palm flat to the spot she would have lain. It was a cold bed, and he needed a few seconds before he could stand. 

"Sir? She's not here," the agent said carefully. "No signs of struggle. It's never entirely neat, and she has trouble sleeping. Is it possible she's at the office now?"

He dialed Jane's phone, and the shrill ring came from a tented book on her bedside table. He picked up the book, letting the phone ring as his mouth dried up. He turned down the page corner before he closed it, because Jane was coming back and would need to find the spot she'd stopped reading. 

Worried husbands and fathers panicked. Civilians could hesitate and just assume the missing person was elsewhere under their own power. FBI agents had to act with the worst case scenario in mind. 

He hung up his phone and dialed Patterson. She could start looking while he drove back to the office. They could search the block, but it wouldn't do any good. Sandstorm wasn't limited to the city. They had properties dotted across the state. Even the locations the FBI knew would work for hiding Jane. This was a message, an act of personal terrorism curated like performance art. 

"Patterson, Jane's gone. Sandstorm was here and took her somewhere, probably while she was knocked out," he said sharply. "They left something for me to find."

"Oh, God," Patterson's voice was far away for a moment. "Guys, Weller needs us. Jane wasn't at her house, but Sandstorm was. What do you need us to do?"

He turned to go back downstairs, tucking Jane's phone in his pocket. "I'm bringing in the evidence. Send a couple of crime scene techs to the house. Jane's detail will meet them and watch their backs. Don't bother tracking her phone; I have that."

His drive back was lights and sirens, the fear from other drivers barely worth his notice. Kurt had bagged the boots himself, shuddering to touch them. He hadn't been able to steady his hand to label them as evidence. 

The morning rushed away from him like getting caught in a riptide. He handed off the boots to Patterson, who promised she would find something they could use. He set up Reade and Zapata with due diligence, and asked Nas to go back into her files for any missions more personal. 

Sandstorm didn't kidnap. People who disappeared were dead. Others were assets to be preserved in plain sight and exploited for their access to intelligence or technology. This wasn't a business decision for Shepherd. She had stolen her daughter back, a private show of vengeance now that her son was also with the FBI. 

His past had given her the inspiration, except this time it was Jane's own mother cast as her killer. 

He fought back the urge to retch, and started making phone calls to every contact he had owing him the smallest favour. The one thing he felt strongly was Shepherd wanted Kurt to find Jane. She had recreated Taylor going missing and would want him to suffer the horror of discovering her grave. 

They would have wanted distance but not too much. The patience of the group had been expended in the years of planning. Kurt had to conclude Shepherd really did love Remi and Roman like a mother, because she was acting with the wrath of a woman whose children had been taken away. Even bad mothers could be unhinged by the pain and outrage of the loss. She wouldn't want to wait days or weeks - twenty-five merciless years - to see him destroyed. 

He walked out in the middle of the team, all of them pale and working frantically. Kurt put Taylor's file down on Reade's desk, content the man would treat it sensitively. He couldn't stand looking at those pictures today. 

"We're not looking for Jane as a prisoner. This is either a distraction - for what I could not care less - or it's revenge on me. Those boots are the same boots Taylor Shaw was buried wearing. We're not looking for Jane being held somewhere," he told them. "Shepherd wants me to find her in a grave."

Patterson's muffled sob echoed the the inhales of Tasha and Edgar. He shook his head, feeling tears trying to push through the icy calm he needed to function. 

"NO! We're not giving up on finding her alive, but we're looking for parallels between Taylor's case and where Jane is now. It's going to be nearby, so I will be on scene. Shepherd will want me to see it. So we are looking for places someone could dig."

The team visibly gathered their composure, and Patterson was at the white board in seconds. "Okay, most of the city is inhabited, guarded or paved. That means parks, gardens, playgrounds, maybe a few plant nurseries," she listed shakily. 

"Taylor was in a campground," Kurt told her. 

She wrote it, then put a question mark. "There aren't campgrounds inside the city," she said. "There are indigents who put up tent cities, or those who live underground. I don't know that anybody could even navigate or track those locations."

"I'm calling the Park Service," Zapata said. "I've driven less than an hour and gone camping."

Kurt stared at the board. "It's going to be very close, as close as they can get," he said. "Shepherd wants me to be on the scene in person, and she knows we'll have to send an ambulance. So it has to be somewhere I could drive as quickly as an ambulance. If we make the office home base, and factor no more than fifteen minutes drive, what are we looking at?"

Reade shut his eyes, swallowing. "Central Park," he said dully. "Boss, that's more than 800 acres. It's right there, but . . . "

Kurt turned away, scrubbing at his face. He wanted to scream, but the tension wasn't going to lift until he was getting Jane back. He paced for a minute, breathing hard. 

"So we narrow it down. Get police reports from last night on incidents in the park, especially places where digging might go unnoticed. I'll get manpower and we'll search," he said firmly. "Remember, they didn't have to leave anything. This is a puzzle they want solved, just like the tattoos. They could have slipped in and out without leaving a trace, but they'll have been clumsy enough someone will know something."

Patterson was on her tablet, beating the other two agents by half a minute. "The Conservatory Garden was vandalized last night. A flower bed was ripped up, a few hedges uprooted, and their gardeners called the police to take photos before they started fixing things up," she said. "They found it about nine this morning."

Jane was in the ground. He lost it for a moment, fists clenching and body shaking. Nas stood up from her quiet work on another computer. 

"Send out an ambulance," she said, taking the team's attention away so he could wipe at his eyes and force his lungs to breathe. "We'll take two vehicles. I'm driving Weller, Zapata and Reade in the other car. Patterson, we need you here in case this location isn't the right one, and to navigate for us. If you have any tools that can get a satellite view with thermal imaging, or a friend who can do it for us off-books, it would be very helpful. Let's go, now!"

She turned to him, and Kurt gritted his teeth. "I can't -" he sighed. 

"You don't need to talk," she told him gently. "We all need vests and arms. This is still Sandstorm, and they are dangerous. We need backup at the ready, but don't send them yet. It's obvious we're meant to get Weller on the scene first, and I think that's our best chance at rescuing Jane."

The drive was reckless to the point of getting them all fired. Kurt sat with both hands locked into the straps of his vest. He knew he was making noises under his breath, grunts that were helpless like sobs. 

"You have to believe this will work," Nas told him. She was a crazier driver than Zapata, and it would have been impressive any other day. "Jane needs you and you're on your way."

They drove up the normally quiet lawns, Patterson directing them through the huge garden. Its beauty was lost on them, but the ambulance had pulled up just behind. Kurt threw himself out of the car and looked at the alarmed men in overalls hoisting a hedge upright. 

"FBI! Set down everything and step away," he yelled. "We have reason to believe someone is trapped under there. I need everyone to step back."

The structured lines of the garden made almost perfect rectangles anyway, and they all looked like potential graves. He glanced up stupidly, as if he'd see Patterson's efforts. 

"Okay, we're at the spot," Nas was saying into the phone. "There's a lot of damage. Did you get thermal?"

In her lab, Patterson squinted unhappily at the images. They weren't strictly legal, so she couldn't complain about quality. Still, she wasn't used to trying to interpret data without knowing more about it.

"I have a couple of stills with thermal from a few dozen feet up. It's the closest I could get and I've never worked with these cameras much. But if you take the eastern flower bed as the top segment, the fourth one down has the most thermal activity," she said. "I don't know, though."

"We can only start, and hope. Thank you, Patterson." Nas pointed to the spot, and Kurt was there on his knees in seconds. A startled gardener came forward to offer his shovel and was violently waved away. 

"No tools, you might hit her," he said hoarsely. 

The team gathered around, clawing at dirt. The were working too hard to speak, and the silence was charged with tragedy. It wouldn't be a deep grave, but digging by hand took forever. His hands were raw and he could feel the cold seeping up into his whole body. And she was down in all that. 

"Oh, I think I have a leg or arm," Nas said eagerly. She leaned in, pointing her hands like a trowel. "Feels like denim fabric, one of her legs. Yes, I have a foot down here. Small, female."

Kurt was on the other end, and dug in where Jane's head would be. He threw dirt off and watched relentlessly until his fingers hit something that moved like it had rolled away from his touch. His efforts increased, Reade and Zapata across from him. Together they carved out an obscene form of a body, still padded by a lot of soil. 

He found the edge of her head and cupped it, brushing away at her face until he could see the filthy shape of her forehead and closed eyes. There was a mask strapped to her mouth and nose. Once Jane's face was cleared, he dug for the strap while Zapata held the mask up to let air in. 

The EMTs were hovering, and handed down a mask of their own once her mouth was visible. Kurt had one glimpse of pale lips and then she was covered. He used one hand to cup her head while he got the soil off her neck. 

"I have a hand free here," Edgar said. "My hands are freezing. Get in here and check for a pulse."

He moved aside for an EMT, who took her wrist and concentrated for a moment. "Weak, but there. She needs be on the way to the hospital as soon as we can get her out, but it has to be gentle. I can't assess for spinal injuries or bleeding in all this," he said. 

It was another ten minutes of careful digging and lifting before Jane was on a stretcher and getting loaded into the ambulance. She hadn't moved or shown any awareness. She was clammy everywhere when the dirt came off. 

"I'm riding with her," he shouted. "Let Patterson know."

He left his exhausted agents kneeling, all his focus following Jane's limp form. 

 

Jane woke up hurting. She could tell she'd been given something for pain, but it wasn't effective and grogginess made her uneasy. She blinked until her eyes worked, and recognized hospital walls. 

She was wearing an oxygen mask, and she wondered if she'd been shot. It was strange though, because not remembering wasn't like her amnesia. It didn't feel like she'd missed much time. 

She couldn't turn her body, but her head rolled to the side. She'd picked wrong, and it was vacant. She rested for a moment, then made the achy motion again. This time she saw Kurt propped in a chair, his hands wrapped in gauze. He was filthy, like he'd fallen in mud. 

Her hands sort of worked, and she used one to scratch along the rough hospital blankets to make a sound. Her throat felt terrible and she thought her voice might be gone. 

He woke up, sitting up with a lurch. His eyes went to her face and he smiled with a huff of relief. "Jane."

It wasn't loud, but she felt like it would carry across a room even as a whisper because its meaning was strong. She lifted her hand and he took it. She touched the gauze and he shook his head. 

"I'm fine. How do you feel?"

Jane shrugged, flinching as it hurt her back. She tried to take off the mask and he put it back on. "You need that. You can talk around it," he said. "Do you need something for pain?"

She didn't think the pain was her problem. Her middle felt bloated and she squirmed. 

"I'll get a nurse with a bedpan," Kurt said, letting go of her hand gently. He hit the buzzer and smoothed back her hair. "You scared me."

"M'sorry," she said. 

"It's nothing you did. We'll talk about it later. Right now, you're under FBI orders to feel better, and I'm going to give you some privacy with your nurse. I'm right outside."

She nodded, as did the nurse who had walked in. Jane watched him go, and Kurt smiled reassuringly. She sighed, trying to help as her nurse checked her vitals and asked questions. 

The fifteen minutes of separation were unbearable in their own way. Kurt was too tired to pace, but couldn't sit. He tried to be calm for his agents stationed outside her door. The team was waiting down the hall, but he had pulled rank to sit with Jane, and her doctor was adamant about minimal visitors. 

He turned to the doorway when the nurse stepped out. "She's more comfortable, and I gave her a little top up for the pain. She can have a little water, but no food until the doctor comes in. The IV should keep her going, and I doubt she'll be hungry for a while."

"Thank you," he said. His manner when he came in had been savage, but the medical staff had taken him as a worried spouse and told him everything. Kurt was very glad Jane had left him as her emergency contact. It smoothed the way to look after her now. 

He stepped back in, happy to see Jane had found a more natural position. She was on her side, knees curled toward his chair. She seemed sleepy again, and he sat down to take her hand. 

"You need to rest," he said quietly. "I'll be here."

"Do I want to know what happened," she whispered. 

"You were drugged, but we found you. I lost my mind and yelled at everyone. You're going to be fine."

She blinked and made her eyes open again when she started to drift. "Okay."

He could hold both hands now, in both of his, cupping their cold dryness. The terror was barely past and he was boiling with rage at Shepherd. But Jane was falling asleep in a warm bed, every blink fought back to meet his gaze lovingly. He would make her feel safe.

It was everything, enough to call it a miracle. He wouldn't even allow the thought of how it could have gone instead.


End file.
